In Uthenera
by Addai
Summary: After the reappearance and death of Tamlen, Alistair must help Idun pick up the pieces. Story 4 of Idun's cycle.


_elder your time is come_  
_ now I am filled with sorrow_  
_ weary eyes need resting_  
_ heart has become grey and slow_  
_ in waking sleep is freedom_

_we sing, rejoice_  
_ we tell the tales_  
_ we laugh and cry_  
_ we love one more day_

_- _"In Uthenera," the elven song of passing

* * *

Idun's soft keening was worse than any sound Alistair had heard, including the eerie silence after Ostagar. The worst of it was how useless he was. He did not know if she wanted comfort, at least from him. So he hung back from her, hovering and pacing so restlessly that he even made her mabari look calm in comparison. Zevran had stayed a time, too, but finally it was just Alistair left alone with her and the body of what had once been her... lover. Yes, it had to be that. Idun had never said as much, but even to one inexperienced in such things as Alistair was, it was plain. She had loved this man Tamlen deeply. He felt a stab of jealousy, then cursed himself the fool for being jealous of a man who had just died in agony at his hand. Worse than a fool, a callous fool. His petty jealousies and wretched hopes did not matter right now.

When Idun's weeping turned to retching, Alistair was moved to action at last. Crouching over her, he put an arm across her back and with his other hand brushed her hair back from her face. It was the lyrium. She had told him that she was not used to it because the Dalish had so little access and therefore learned not to rely on it in their magical practice. However, she had also never been called upon to fight mobs of darkspawn back when she was with her clan. The fury she could unleash was incredible, frightening almost. Yet such power drained her greatly. In tough fights such as the surprise attack of shrieks they had just thrown back, she had no choice but to suck down some of the glowing liquid she carried in a flask in her pocket. Idun had told him that there were other ways she could power spells, methods that involved drawing on her own life's blood, but Alistair's face had darkened at that. In the argument that followed, Idun had promised to use such methods only in dire necessity and otherwise to rely on the lyrium instead. It was his fault, then, that she was trying to vomit in between her sobs.

When her stomach's contents were emptied, Alistair took his own handkerchief (hoping it was not too dirty) and wiped her face. Idun looked up at him as though she didn't recognize him at all. Seeing such pain in her eyes, he thought his heart might break in two. For some time now, the Dalish woman's gaze did things to him he didn't know were possible, things he couldn't describe. Those _things _were still present but were more inconvenient than ever, now that she looked at him in wordless grief. What could he possibly do or say that would make this better rather than worse?

His chance to do anything at all passed when Idun turned, crawling on hands and knees back to the blackened, corrupted body of what was once her clanmate. Alistair let her go, sitting back hard on the ground. After a moment he heard footsteps behind them. Turning, he saw that it was Leliana, the Orlesian singer turned Chantry acolyte turned darkspawn mercenary.

"She should not touch the body," Leliana whispered, concerned. "The taint..."

"She is immune." There were at least some good sides to the taint filling one's blood, Alistair reflected bitterly. At least one could hold a corrupted lover one last time.

Both he and Leliana stopped talking when they heard Idun begin to sing. It was more like croaking than singing, a few syllables of elvish that broke almost before they began. Her shoulders shook, then she started again. Alistair assumed it was a lament. It sounded like that. He was surprised when the bard's voice took up the tune, softly but confidently. Idun was surprised, as well. She turned around and gazed at Leliana with an expression that quickly moved from stunned to grateful. With Leliana's help, Idun's voice began to clear and the two women sang the haunting ballad of the dead. Behind them, the others in their party had been busy building the pyre on which they would burn the shrieks' bodies, but all ceased their work to listen.

When the song was done, Leliana retreated back to the campfire, leaving Alistair crouched behind Idun watching her. She was weeping quietly. Alistair decided that he would just wait. At the very least someone needed to guard her in case more darkspawn showed up. That is what he told himself was his reason for remaining, at any rate, though Warden sense told him that there were no darkspawn nearby. In truth he wanted to be the one to comfort her. He even had some hope that Idun might want this, too.

If the events of this night seemed surreal, those of the previous seemed even less likely to have happened anywhere but in his fantasy. Alistair would have thought them no more than that if he had not such a clear memory of her lips on his. In a moment of lunacy while they washed the dinner pots, he had let words tumble out of his mouth about how much he cared for her. The only thing that could top this eloquent confession was then to pull her into a kiss, right after she had told him she didn't know whether she felt the same. Brilliant idea. She had not smashed one of the newly-washed pots over his head afterwards, but this no doubt was testament to the elven Warden's merciful nature. Except she _had_ smiled when he released her. Did women do that after receiving unwelcome attention? Maybe if they were plotting revenge.

Alistair sat wrapped up in thought and agony for so long that he didn't notice the time passing. The camp got dark and quiet. Idun had stopped weeping and was sitting quietly, Tamlen's head on her lap. Stirring himself up, Alistair came forward and draped her cloak over her shoulders. He was about to turn when Idun caught his hand. Sitting just behind her, he leaned around to listen.

"I want to do what I told you about before," she murmured. "You remember? The tree? I need your help."

Alistair remembered. It was several months ago now, but he had asked about Dalish funeral practices. He had simply hoped to move the topic of conversation off Duncan and onto something less likely to make him look weak to her, but the simple beauty of the Dalish practice had impressed him. He understood that Idun was asking him to help her bury Tamlen and plant a tree which would draw life from his death. And now he would have to cause her even more pain.

"The taint, Idun," he reminded her, as gently as he could. "It will corrupt any tree you plant near it, corrupt the land itself. We must... burn him. I am sorry."

Her face looked stricken for a moment, then she nodded. "Of course," she said, composure thin but intact. "Of course, I forgot. We cannot have that. You will have to burn me, too, when the time comes, won't you? The taint is in me, too. I had almost forgotten." Alistair grimaced at this reply. He was fond of rating their chances as next to nil, but Idun had always been the one who rallied them. Now she spoke of her own death matter-of-factly. He realized, however, that it was not really her death that she was thinking about, rather the fact that the taint and her Warden duty cut her off from Dalish life. She had told him as much when they visited a Dalish clan seeking to gather an elven army against the darkspawn. He had expected Idun to sleep in the Dalish camp. On the first night she had stayed long at the fire with the other elves, but then had come to sleep in her usual place in their party camp. Long ago she had said that she considered the Grey Wardens her clan. Maybe she hadn't been kidding about that after all. It hadn't really been clear to him before how much this cost her, however.

Alistair reached up to her face and brushed a thumb, roughened by sword calluses, over her cheek. It left a streak through the mixture of dirt and tear tracks there. He was trying to find something to say when suddenly Idun's arms were around his neck, clinging to him with the strength he always found surprising in such a slender woman. This was alright, then. If she was willing to just let him hold her, then he could do that.

By the time the sun was up, the funeral pyre was crackling. They stood side by side, the others gathered around, Alistair's arm around Idun's shoulders. Her face took a sudden turn to the greenish and she buried it in his chest, perhaps to block out the smell of cooking flesh that he also found repulsive. It must be very offensive to one who wasn't used to this sort of rite. Alistair watched the flames for her, his thoughts wandering to what sort of man this Tamlen had been and if he could at all measure up.

"Your gods watch over you," he murmured aloud. For some time he had been stabbed with jealousy whenever Idun brought up the name Tamlen. She did it often when she spoke of her clan: Tamlen this, Tamlen that. Now the man he had envied had shown up in their camp and Alistair had slain him with his own hand. He had no choice, of course. After briefly talking with Idun, the half-shriek had turned on her and began beating her. Idun had merely stood there taking the blows, hands over her head, seemingly ready to let him beat her to death if her companions hadn't intervened. Nevertheless, Alistair wondered how cruel Tamlen would think it that the man who killed him now stood comforting his woman, all the while entertaining thoughts of usurping his place in her affections.

When Idun stirred, Alistair snapped guiltily out of his thoughts. If he found all of this unsettling and strange, how much more would she likely do the same. Right now, she just looked hurt and weary. "Come eat something," he urged her. "Or.. or rest. You look like you could use it."

She seemed lost, almost uncomprehending, but nodded. "I'll rest a little. Then we should move." Idun started to walk off, then turned back and held out a hand, saying, "Come with me."

Alistair thought he might not have heard correctly, but she repeated her request. "Come with me. I don't want to be alone," she insisted, voice hoarse from grief and smoke. He could hardly refuse her even if he had wanted to. They walked to a quiet spot away from the others, under a tree heavy with summer leaf. Alistair laid his cloak down at the tree's base and waited while Idun rested back on it, curling up on her side. Her mabari came padding over and lay nearby with his head on his paws.

Alistair turned to take a place sitting against the tree, but Idun held up a hand to stop him. Uncertainly, he took the hand and accepted its implied invitation, lying down on the cloak next to her. They lay side by side, not touching. After a moment's hesitation, Alistair drew an arm across her waist and looked to see if she would object. Her eyes did not open, so he left his arm there. Tired as he was, he then found his eyes would not close. They were too transfixed at the sight of Idun's face lying mere inches from his own, her breath riffling his cheek with warm little whispers. If the cloying stink of death were not hovering over them quite so thoroughly, he would have thought it all a perfect dream. Nevertheless Alistair decided to take it for the miracle it was and leave it at that. He tried not to wonder if what had ended that night could mean the beginning of something else.


End file.
